


Dammit, Sammy!

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Eavesdropping, Established Rowena Macleod/Sam Winchester, F/M, Hair, Hair Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 13:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22716601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Dean gets more than he bargained for when he spies on Sam and Rowena.
Relationships: Rowena MacLeod/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Dammit, Sammy!

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a picture from [ this post](https://shirtlesssammy.tumblr.com/post/187448510937/10x22-the-prisoner) and a conversations I had with my friend brokenfannibal.

It wasn't like he was eavesdropping.

He was minding his own business, walking by on his way to the kitchen (pie cravings were a bitch) when he heard it.

A moan. Deep, throaty, rich enough to pass for a purr.

It was certainly a sound that piqued interest. A sound that, under the right circumstances, at the right time, tickled the imagination — and his sure was wild to start with, not needing much to fire it up. Curious creature that he was, Dean followed it.

Sam's door was cracked open. His room, from the little Dean could see, was dark, illuminated only by the lamp on his nightstand. Another moan rang out, followed by a laugh, and then a giggle. Happy, playful, much alike those of children, though Dean was certain there was nothing childlike about any of this.

A tinge of pride bloomed within him. _Nice going, Sammy!_ He wasn't Rowena's biggest fan, and she was far from the kind of woman he'd hoped his brother would settle down with, but nonetheless he was happy. As long as Sam was happy, so was Dean.

His brother had made a choice, and it was up to Dean to respect that. Rowena wasn't _that_ bad. Sam had certainly done worse (Dean shuddered at the memory of Ruby, even more so when his mind switched to Amelia). Compared to his past lovers, Rowena was… decent. She was a _reformed_ baddie, something not many of his exes were. She was spunky. Spicy. Cultured, Dean supposed. She had class and manners, which she loved to use against him in banter. A fast wit and a sharp tongue she wielded like a weapon.

Oh, and she was alive.

For now.

So Dean didn't disapprove. He kept his dislikes of certain things about Rowena to himself and supported his brother, as a real big brother should.

"Goodness, Sam," Rowena said.

"You like it?"

"Mmhm."

Dean's face contorted with unease. As proud as he was of his brother's sex life, he didn't need to hear about it.

He didn't need to creep outside his door, either, but oh, well.

Besides, he wasn't creeping. He was just… investigating noises. And making sure Sam was okay and doing things right. Which wasn't creepy at all.

Just normal brotherly stuff Dean was already planning to use against him next time they made fun of each other because that was the mature thing to do.

"It's very… _alpha."_ Rowena's voice was all but a purr. Dean would have found it hot if she wasn't, well, _Rowena._

Sam chuckled. "I chose that shampoo just for you."

Shampoo?

A cackle escaped Rowena. "Naughty boy." She inhaled; a deep, throaty sound. A moan slipped from her mouth. "Such a naughty, naughty boy."

"Anything for you," he breathed.

 _Dammit, Sammy._ Rowena had him wrapped around her finger, and he was enjoying every moment. A proud grin bloomed on Dean's mouth. He'd taught him well.

More moans ensued, mutual ones. Then Sam took in a deep breath and, dazed as if on a high, said, "Mmm, Rowena."

"Yes, Samuel?" Feigned innocence. All good girl, Sunday's pride. Dean could picture her batting her eyelashes like she tended to do every time she put on an act — a terribly unconvincing one, though he doubted it mattered in the bedroom.

"You smell so good."

"Do I?"

"Mmhm. Like a queen."

Dean frowned, confused. What was it with the smell? First the shampoo comment, then the overdone intakes of breath, and now this. Did they have some weird fetish thing going on?

_Oh, my god. Good fucking god!_

Was this seriously a fetish?

Dean was horrified. Things like feet he could get. Gags? Handcuffs? Whips? No problem. But smelling?

Smelling _what_ exactly?

Did he even want to know?

Rowena giggled. "You sure know how to flatter a lady."

"I'm just being honest," Sam said. "You smell so fucking good!"

Dean gulped, mortified. _Jesus Christ!_ What had his brother gotten himself into?

"Show me how much you like it," Rowena said.

Another inhale. More giggling. More moans of pleasure, of pure passion.

 _That's it!_ Dean told himself. Against his better judgment, he toed closer to the door and peered inside.

The sight that greeted his eyes was… unexpected, to say the least.

Sam and Rowena were kneeling on the bed. Breathless. Fully clothed. His arms were wrapped around her; somehow she managed to look even tinier, prey in a python's grasp. His face was buried in her hair.

He was… inhaling.

A look of ecstasy, of pure, unadulterated bliss settled over his face. His mouth widened, teeth bright in a smile.

"I _love_ it." He purred the words like a cat who'd just captured a mouse after hours of chasing it. Content. Happy. A man who'd discovered heaven. He dove into the sea of red curls again. Sniffed as if his life depended on it. Savored the scent, moaning from the pleasure of it. "So… good…"

Dean stiffened, petrified. His throat tightened, dread settling over. _My brother's a hair freak! Jesus Christ, my brother's a hair freak!_

He supposed it could have been worse. He could have been a—

"All for you. Anything for my boy," Rowena said. She pecked him on the nose, leaving a smear of lipstick, red as blood, in her wake. "I believe it is my turn."

Taking a final whiff of her scalp, Sam lowered his head. Her nose was in his hair in an instant, inhaling, exploring, moans, almost orgasmic, falling from her lips.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Dean rushed — practically ran — back to his room, want for pie forgotten. His face was the picture of disgust, his stomach turning with it. He'd seen enough. He'd found out enough.

Whatever he was hoping to discover, it wasn't this — whatever this was.

He didn't want to know.

He didn't care.

He just wanted to forget.

Maybe one of the many grimoires at the Bunker had a spell for that.

_Dammit, Sammy! Why did you make me see that?_

He supposed he could have stopped. Or not looked at all. But what would have been the fun in that? All he wanted was to be proud of his brother. And to acquire some teasing material. Not a lifetime of trauma.

He doubted he could even do anything with this unfortunate knowledge. The way things were, if Dean were to bring it up, Sam wouldn't be embarrassed. He would be proud. Would own it like a particularly nasty insult bullies used to hurl at him.

A part of Dean admired his brother for that. It took guts to find power in weirdness. On the other hand…

_Dammit, Sammy!_


End file.
